With a marriage on the way, I swore that I would be reducing my trips to Atlantic City. But then the Beerfest lured me. Shortly after, there was the comic con. And, of course, I had to have my bachelor party there. But that’s it. I was done. No more silly drunken nights….

Then OB got free tickets to see Norm MacDonald at Harrah’s.

I have seen many, many stand-up comedy legends at Atlantic City over the years, but not Norm. However, with the impending marriage, money is tight, and my luck has grown cold in Atlantic City over the last few trips (see the aforementioned Beerfest post for the bloody details). So I set a few ground rules for myself before going down:

1. Stick to “voucher gambling”. Getting shellacked at the tables does come with some benefits now and then, as I had a couple free bets to redeem. Taking these vouchers, as well as the $25 credit you get when taking the bus, and I had small bankroll. Enough to soothe the gambling beast, but not enough to spend the whole night. So what else to do?

2. Drink. It’s the cheapest way to kill time in Atlantic City. Believe it or not, I felt somewhat “in control” my last few trips down (the wildest time being last summer). This trip, I’d be testing my limits.

3. Go for the all-nighter. As youngsters, OB and I would go down without a hotel room booked, and would stay up all night in Atlantic City. However, as we progressed throughout our 20s, hotel rooms went from optional to necessary. The last true all-nighter I pulled was way way back in Chapter 3. Could I do it again?

So with the stage set, let’s see how I did sticking to the rules.

11:00AM – My goodness, the bus line. Word of advice, folks – if you are taking the bus from Port Authority to Atlantic City, make sure to get there very early and know what gate you need to stand at. During the busiest times, which seem to be Friday after work and Saturday morning, it will be mass pandamoneum. Being the experienced bus veterans that we are, OB and I were promptly in line and had first row seats to the fracas as people who couldn’t make it on the 11 AM bus tried to cut into the 11:30 line. There was mass screaming, and threats to call the “line police.” I just put on my sunglasses to avoid making eye contact with anyone. OB and I grabbed seats in the back, and let the drinking commence (I started with cheap-o whiskey, OB preferred Captain Morgan).

It’s here. After three years, and 21 posts of varying quality, I am having my bachelor party in Atlantic City. Sure, there are places I could have thrown my bachelor party that would be cheaper, easier to get to, and more fun. But it’s me. Not having my bachelor party in Atlantic City would be exactly like cheating on my future wife, only worse. I could not risk any bad karma prior to the wedding.

Along with me were 13 of the crassest, dirtiest scoundrels the east coast ever produced. Sure, almost all of them are 30-years-olds in committed relationships, but that didn’t prevent them from drinking in slightly-above-moderation and spending a slightly-above-responsible amount of money. All the AC Diary All-Stars were there: Keith, OB, Finn, and the little-seen Steve (from way back in Chapter 9). There were many more, but I’ll introduce them as necessary along the way. Let’s get this show on the road!

Saturday

2:00PM – My groomsmen (OB, Steve, and two new characters to the diary: Sharma and my brother) and I had spent the previous night drinking in beautiful Cape May, NJ. If you’ve never been to Cape May, you better get your butt in gear! Cape May is a quiet beach town, where old people will smile at you, every business has “Cape May” in it’s name (i.e. Cape May Brewery, Cape May Peanut Butter, Cape May Gynecology), and the bars actually play Semisonic’s “Closing Time” at closing time. It’s basically bizarro Atlantic City.

Therefore, when we arrived in Atlantic City, we experienced quite the culture shock. As loyal readers know, the bus from New York City is my preferred method to get down to Atlantic City, and it definitely prepares you for the world you are arriving in. Going from Cape May to Atlantic City was like walking out of Disneyworld and into a slaughterhouse. Everyone looked like they wanted to kill us.

Our hotel this time was Caesars. For those planning a bachelor party, I would highly recommend Caesars as a base of operations, mainly due to its central location. When checking in, OB realized he left his wallet in the car, and had to run back. This left four of us abandoned in the lobby area, awkwardly waiting and slowly adjusting ourselves to Atlantic City’s angry nature. Then we met Caesars security. Yes, the following below was an actual conversation.

Security guard: You guys checking in?

Us: Yeah, we’re waiting for a friend.

Security guard: Did you guys just arrive?

Us: ….yes.

Security guard: Were you here last night?

Us: ….no….

Security guard: So you just got here, and weren’t here last night?

Us: …yup. That’s correct.

Security guard (eyeing us suspiciously): ….alright.

You gotta love that AC hospitality! So charming!

Keith Stone: Rory would’ve loved the bus ride down. The door to the bathroom was open the entire time and it smelled like Nets all-time great Gheorghe Muresan had just evacuated his bowels after an all-you-can-eat Indian food buffet. I survived by drinking vodka out of a soda bottle for my 83rd consecutive bus ride down to AC. As we were disembarking, two cute girls were confused about the casino vouchers that come with the bus ticket. Being the gallant gentleman that I am, I tried explaining it to them, but it turned out that the problem was that they were only 18. I took that as my cue to leave and meet up with the guys.

Two thousand fifteen. Such a huge number. The year we are in, some would say. And this is a string of four pointless sentences.

I haven’t been to Atlantic City this year, so we are way overdue for a diary. Usually, around this time, Keith and I would have hit AC on some kind of crazy adventure. However, he made the horrible mistake of abstaining from alcohol for Lent. This time, it is OB and myself, Harrah’s, and the Atlantic City Beer (and Music) Festival. We begin our day of activities with a buffet….

2:30PM – The ride down was fairly uneventful. We were pleased to find that the buses now go straight from Port Authority to Harrah’s (a game changer!), and I slept the whole way down. OB, unfortunately, made the error of not printing out his ticket for the beerfest before leaving. We ventured out to find the hotel business center, but Harrah’s seems to be determined to hide it away from all human contact. After two separate elevator rides and a meander through both the casino and the barren halls of unused meeting rooms, we found the business center. It was inhabited by another poor soul who, too, had forgotten to print up his ticket. However, this jabroni fills us in on his current woes: the printer isn’t working. A friendly staffmember arrived, but after a series of complicated e-mail transactions, we were still without our tickets.

I decide to take matters into my own hands. I look at the printer. It says “No Paper.” I use all my MacGuyver skills, and remove paper from the fax machine and stick it in the printer. Problem solved.

Harrah’s, I’m available to be head of your IT department. Just give me a call.

4:00 – After a quick shower and some squats to get the blood flowing, we headed down to Harrah’s Waterfront Buffet to stuff ourselves with crab legs and rotten shrimp. We went as the buffet opened, so we were surrounded by the elderly in their natural habitat. However, our eyes were distracted by the Harrah’s Pool, which was actually hopping. I don’t seem to remember it actually working as a “pool,” but rather a nightclub. Yet today, on the first semi-nice day of 2015, the ladies (and gents) were out in their skimpiest outfits. It was quite a sight.

5:30 – The. Beerfest.

Honestly, this might be the most fun, best run event I have ever been to in Atlantic City. I can’t even begin to properly describe it. So, without ado, here’s my top six list of the best things about the Atlantic City Beer (and Music) Fest:

6. It’s very well-organized. The space was large and brightly lit. The event started on time. It was insanely easy to get through security. The cabs after the event were easy to find (granted, we left about 20 minutes early to avoid the rush). Given that there were about 10,000 people there with the express purpose of drinking, it could’ve easily been a shitshow. Instead, it was the greatest party of the year.

5. There’s food! Unfortunately, we weren’t able to partake much in this aspect, having eaten before. But, we passed by a bunch of smoked meats that smelled absolutely mouth-watering. Free samples, to boot. Speaking of free…

4. So much swag. I live for swag. Stickers, coasters, buttons. Aside from the beer, you can definitely get your money’s worth in useless crap. I love it.

3. There’s so many activities! Drinking tiny beers for four hours can get a bit boring. So why not try on kilts? Or listen to music? Or do some yoga? You can do all these activities for as long or as short as you want, depending on how much time you need to rest. (I would like to note that this is the second time we were at an event in Atlantic City featuring Everclear. And it is the second time we chose not to watch Everclear.)

2. The crowd rocks. You had groups of drinkers celebrating people’s birthdays, some trying to do the “Wade Boggs Challenge,” and others dressed up as wrestlers. And, for such a large event, there were almost no bad apples in the bunch. Nobody was sloppy or vomiting, and nobody was being a jerk (fighting, pushing, cutting lines, etc.).

But, we all know what number one is…

1. Four hours of beer. You are given a small glass, and the recommended sample size is 2 ounces, but come on – you got unlimited beer from some great breweries. For free. For four hours.

I will make it my duty to be there next year, come hell or high water. And you should too. And I am getting no money to endorse this. This should be the last line of the diary. Unfortunately, the night keeps going.

10:00 – OB and I take our drunk asses back to Harrah’s, and the rest of the night is a blur. We have an excellent midnight dinner at McCormick and Schmick’s, and OB passes out early. I make the unfortunate mistake of staying up gambling. I get beat at the slots. I get beat at the blackjack tables. I get beat when I bet small. I get beat when I bet big. I get beat when I play with bad blackjack players. I get beat when I play with good blackjack players.

Bottom line: I stink at gambling.

7:00AM – After a short nap, I take a morning stroll on the Harrah’s waterfront and take stock of my life. This may have been the greatest trip I ever had in Atlantic City, but then I had to go gamble. Which brings up the challenge: can I “Do AC” without gambling? Is that even possible?

Stay tuned. The next AC Diary will be coming in June. And trust me, it’s going to be a doozy.

Last year, life was grand in Atlantic City. I ran a half marathon, and the city had 13 casinos. Since then, we’ve both downgraded: I’m running half the distance, and Atlantic City has nearly half as many casinos. This is my first trip to AC since the massive bloodletting of September, where Revel, Showboat, and Trump Plaza closed their doors. All reports I’ve heard about Atlantic City the last month made it sound exactly like the town Bruce Springsteen sang about on Nebraska. But, still, I had to go down there and see it for myself.

Friday

9:00PM – Let’s set the stage for this trip, as many things are quite different. First, let’s introduce the main players. There’s me, my girlfriend, an already intoxicated Keith (not so different from previous entries), and Keith’s friend Realtor, a long-time AC Diary fan making his diary debut. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be a fan of the AC Diaries and then, one day, finding yourself IN it. It must be like turning on The Simpsons and seeing yourself drinking at Moe’s. Yes, it must be exactly like that. We are lacking OB, who was called away on official duty. (I can’t go into the details, but it has something to do with Albania. Am I serious? I don’t even know anymore.)

We are also not staying at a casino, but at the Chelsea Hotel, a funky hotel with pink neon lights, situated right next to the Tropicana. It was easily the cheapest hotel I could find in AC that didn’t look like I’d find a severed head in the toilet. My room had a cracked mirror and a wine bottle in the mini-bar that looked like it had been opened then resealed. So, yes, I’d give the Chelsea two thumbs up, and would stay there again.

Keith Stone: After a bus trip filled with the usual drinking of liquor out of soda bottles, practicing blackjack on my phone, and old ladies politely ignoring our inappropriate conversations, Realtor and I had a little less than half a bottle of vodka left upon arrival at the Chelsea. We agreed to meet Rory and Mrs. Rory downstairs in about 20 minutes. I’m not exactly sure where all the vodka went but it was gone by then. My high school cross country coach always did stress the importance of hydrating the night before a race.

In the last edition of the Atlantic City Diary, I was just there for less than 12 hours. Summer wouldn’t quite be complete without another trip to AC. However, due to boring household maintenance issues, this was another short affair. Let’s get started:

7:00PM – We (my ladyfriend and I) arrive at Bally’s, with a bus ride that was the exact opposite of the trip from Chapter 17. The bus was brand new, the seats were comfortable, the smell was unnoticeable, and the traffic was fantastic. Departing around 4:30PM, we made good time on a Saturday afternoon, arriving in just under 2.5 hours.

Upon arriving at the Bally’s terminal, we were greeted by a man named Kirby, who worked for Bally’s, distributing the bus vouchers. Mr. Kirby wasn’t taking any guff from the ornery bus passengers, scolding them like children each time they tried to hurry them for their bus vouchers or try to cut the line.

In the line for the bus voucher, a poker player with a Seven Stars card was regaling us with tall tales, such as 16-hour poker sessions, winning $6,000 last time he was here, and staying for 5 consecutive days on comped rooms. Upon swiping his Seven Stars card and receiving his bus voucher, Kirby gives him the stink-eye. “What’s wrong, my man Kirby?” I ask. Kirby just responds, curtly, “That wasn’t his players card.” Oh, Atlantic City, never change.

Finally, we check in, and head to our room on the 25th floor. On our floor, a boisterous drunk gentlemen greets us, bellowing, “WELCOME TO THE FLOOR!” We respond in kind, of course. So, for those of you keeping count, we’ve already met three strange characters on this trip, and we haven’t even entered our hotel room yet. In terms of entertainment value, I’m already playing with house money this weekend.

8:00 – We went to have dinner at Harry’s Oyster Bar, which was a huge hit with my ladyfriend. I stuck with the lobster, while she got a half-portion of the raw bar sampler. But, more importantly, Harry’s Oyster Bar is one of the few places that serve beer from the Cape May Brewery. We discovered it during a trip down to Cape May earlier in the summer, and have been itching for it since. Unfortunately, the brewery is still in its early stages, and hasn’t migrated much north of AC yet. But it was definitely a great compliment to the wonderful seafood.

Other notes on Harry’s Oyster Bar: first, looking around, you could tell it was the dog days of the sports calendar. With tons of flatscreens, Harry’s would be a great place to catch a game. Unfortunately, the only things on were a meaningless baseball game, a practice for USA basketball, and some guy giving a speech for the Football Hall of Fame. If that doesn’t epitomize early August sports, I don’t know what else does. Secondly, Harry’s was promoting a deal where you would buy cosmopolitans and some of the proceeds would go to breast cancer charities. It is a noble effort, but what sells it is the “lady fish” logo. It looks like the Mrs. Pac-Man of the original Harry’s logo.

9:00 – After dinner, the ladyfriend needed a nap (after a long Friday night), so I decided to walk the boardwalk. It was a beautiful night, and I love taking in the bustling atmosphere that is a Saturday on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. I stopped in to the Trump Plaza to pay my respects to the establishment in the most suiting way possible: I used the bathroom, and immediately left.

My main reason for going was to visit the Playcade arcade. I am currently toying with the idea of starting a blog dedicated to reviewing old arcades, and I figured I’d give this place a test run. I’m not quite in the mood to break down the Playcade after this trip, but it’s quite tiny and could use more variety. It was mainly one wall dedicated to skee-ball, then littered with various games that are a bit too quick to play for my liking, such as coin-push games, slot machines, and crane games. There were four basketball shooting games by my count, which seems like a bit much for just one arcade. I played some Mrs. Pac-Man, drunkenly thinking I could set the new high score, and failing miserably.

After goofing around in there for about 30 minutes, I took my odd collection of coins and tickets and earned myself a whopping 725 points. Normally, I like to buy a bunch of little random crap, but the girl behind the counter had taken a liking to me (I wasn’t particularly charming – this may have simply been a case of being the only guy to come into a place normally frequented by small children and mothers). She was offering me the “big prizes”, such as handcuffs or slime. Thinking handcuffs would be a bit risque, I settled for the slime. Unfortunately, the slime was 800 points, but I just batted my beautiful eyelashes and ended up with grade-A slime from China. Totally worth it.

10:00 – I get back to the hotel room, and continue drinking and hanging out with my lovely ladyfriend. At this point, I’ve finished about half a bottle of wine, and make the awful decision to shave my beard. Twenty grueling minutes later, and I look like I was attacked by a feral cat. OB and Lady OB show up at this point for more drunken revelry, and the night begins to get hazy. Here’s the recollection of the night, as it comes back to me slowly:

We went to the Wild Wild West, and I ran away from the group to go to the bathroom, convinced that I was still profusely bleeding from my face. Allegedly.

There was a cover band at the Wild Wild West, and I serenaded the ladyfriend and Lady OB with my tear-jerking rendition of “I Want It That Way.” Allegedly.

I played table games at the Wild Wild West (a welcome return to form, WWW!), and was doing fine, but for some reason left to play games at Bally’s. I then lost $90. Alleged–crap, I did lose $90!

2:00AM – I’m back in the room, with just $50 in my pocket. While I try not bring too much money to Atlantic City, every gambler knows that going down with just $50 means you’ll lose it immediately. So, I’m ranting to my ladyfriend about how I want to take out $400. She says that’s probably a bad idea, and convinces me that maybe I should just take out $200. I agree with her, then immediately fall asleep.

9:00 – I wake up, very fortunate I didn’t take out any more money. Thank goodness for ladyfriend! That girl is alright! If it wasn’t for her, I’d easily be $400 lighter.

I grab my favorite hangover cure, the pretzels at Bally’s, and we peruse the Boardwalk, getting some desperately needed fresh air. We aim for an 11:00AM bus, but when that line looks too long, we decide not to risk it and get a ride back with OB and the good Lady OB.

Overall, these last two trips, when taken individually, were not enough AC for me, but together, they form a magical summer memory of Atlantic City. We’ve lost some good friends in Atlantic City this summer: the Revel, the Showboat, my memories from 10:00PM to 2:00AM on August 2nd, my $90, etc. However, new friends have replaced them: the Wild Wild West’s table games, Kirby, the Cape May Brewery, and slime. Enjoy the rest of the summer folks, and I’ll see you in the fall!

Ah, good old Showboat. The boat of show. Showy showy boat boat. Am I stretching out this opening with pointless gibberish because I don’t have much to write in this chapter? Perhaps. Or am I afraid to say goodbye to the preeminent casino from my youth that has recently announced its closing? Probable.

Growing up, many family vacations were spent in Atlantic City, as touched upon way back in Chapter 1 of the Atlantic City Diaries. Due to it being on the lower end of the price spectrum, the Showboat was generally the place where we stayed (and is generally why I have frequented it many times in these diaries). However, back in the mid 90’s, Showboat was among the more hustling and bustling casinos. They had a world-famous bowling alley, a piano player was set up in the lobby, and a live jazz band roamed the halls. Unfortunately, they’ve been systematically removing all the “fun” elements from the casino over the last decade and, by the end, it was just another generic casino in Atlantic City with a few scant elements of the “New Orleans” theme. Hell, even when I started gambling down there, they used to give out Mardi Gras beads, but I guess even those were deemed too fun.

Now, I know the Showboat was still profitable, but I would advise against casinos trying too hard to reach out to the “sophisticated gambler.” It is a very hard market to crack into, as you can see with Revel being brought to its knees. Only Borgata seems to have done it successfully. If I may play Monday Morning Quarterback for a moment: Showboat would have been best served by going in a completely new direction. It seems that too many casinos are either trying to be high end (Caesars, Revel, Borgata) or just throwing up their hands and saying “Fuck it!” (Resorts, Trump Plaza). I think Showboat could have tried to market itself as a “family friendly” casino. Casinos are generally sketchy places, but if they had more security and kid-friendly activities, they’d be the only game in town for all gambling-addict parents. Sure, it’s a new idea, but if there’s anything Atlantic City is short on it’s new ideas. It’s why I love the direction the Wild Wild West is taking: the Mountain Bar was a hit, and they’ve added more fun “college” type activities around the bar, such as a new stage, beer pong tables, and a mechanical bull (and, finally, they brought back the table games!). Keep in mind, I have no experience in running a casino, and could be way off base. But still, I wrote it, and you read it, so that has to count for something.

Anyway, I had a trip planned to go down to Showboat this past Thursday, which, unfortunately, was only one day. As a man who loves nostalgia, I’m glad I had any time at all to go and say my goodbyes to the Boat. Also, I had to scratch the gambling itch – nearly three months had passed since my last outing, and we were getting deep into the summer without a trip to AC. So, let’s start with the bus ride, which, despite taking it dozens of times, never fails to give me something new to write about:

7:00PM – Hooboy, where to start? The bus smelled like pee. There were newspapers on the floor outside the bathroom, like they were training a dog to be housebroken. The air conditioner in the back didn’t work. The bus driver pulled over on the highway, moved to the back, and tried to open the emergency hatch in the roof, thinking this would cool the back. He couldn’t open it. There were still newspapers on the floor, outside the bathroom, not masking the pee smell in the slightest. On every turn, the bus shook; I’m not sure if it was bad driving or the suspension on the bus was shot. This bus was clearly one day away from retirement. Also, there were fucking newspapers on the floor outside the bathroom.

8:30 – After checking in, my fiance and I head to Scarduzio’s for our last supper. Joining us tonight: OB and his ladyfriend, Polar and his ladyfriend, and a newcomer to the Atlantic City Diary universe, Drew, accompanied by his ladyfriend as well. Steaks are served all around, and I enjoy a prime rib of cartoonish proportions. The thing would have tipped over Fred Flintstone’s car. I usually stay away from Scarduzio’s because it can be a bit pricey, but OB has the dinner covered. Not only that, OB is a man who never skimps on the tip, but is disappointed that the waiter doesn’t come over and shake his hand afterwards. Note to all waiters: should you ever serve OB, make sure to shake his hand at every opportunity.

11:00 – I’ve bitched about gambling at Showboat repeatedly in these diaries, but I had to gamble one last time. I play blackjack next to OB for a bit, and both of us tread water. I take a breather, get some drinks, use the bus voucher with my fiance (to little success), and head back to the tables. I manage to win a few bucks, but OB takes a beating. The problem at the table: we had a screamer. Now, mind you, I love an enthusiastic blackjack player. However, this guy was just a screamer, and he only screamed one thing: “ACES!” If you are going to scream, you gotta mix it up, and commit to screaming all the time. All Mr. “ACES!” does is give us a splitting headache. After OB took his licking, we headed to his room in Revel.

12:30AM – It is now July 4th, so we decide to put on some patriotic tunes and order up room service. Unfortunately at Revel, they refuse to bring up alcohol to your room after 11. Is this a joke? No wonder they are going out of business. I understand closing a kitchen, but they seriously can’t have a staff member open a fridge and bring up a bottle? So I travel back to Showboat to get the bottle of vodka I brought, OB took care of mixers, and the Revel staff brought the cups. You read that right: Revel will give you cups for free, but they refuse to take your money and give you alcohol. I will shed no tears when Revel closes.

3:00 – After reciting Bill Pullman’s speech from Independence Day, we head back to Showboat. My fiance and I are a little bit incredibly drunk, and we decide to call it a night. My fiance goes to get a late night snack at the Earl of Sandwich, and I have to stand down the hall to escape the awful smell of that place. The Earl of Sandwich has a sickening burnt cheese smell that grinds against the soul of my nose. And then, to bed.

And….that’s it? Really? Yes, nothing else of note happened on this last trip to the Showboat. Much like the actual casino, the trip ended too soon. God speed, Showboat. I will always have the memories, but it is time for both of us to move on.

Finally, after years and years of winter, springtime is starting in the Northeast. What better time to go down to Atlantic City for a quick run? This diary features my mom’s birthday celebration, the return of OB (last seen singing “Surrender“), the return of my gambling ways, and a trip to a heart-shaped bathtub. Onward and upward!

Friday

3:00PM – This weekend is set to be extremely packed for me: multiple dinners to attend, a 7K to run, and tons of gambling to partake in. However, a miscommunication between my mom and I puts me in my Showboat hotel room with about five hours to kill until dinner at Scarduzio’s. It would be way too early to start gambling, especially since I’m staying the entire weekend. So, I kill time by doing a perusal of the boardwalk. To spice it up, I decide to stop in a bunch of those stores selling corny t-shirts and various other crap. From the outside, they always appear to me as adding to the whimsy of the Atlantic City Boardwalk – these tiny, cheap shops serving as the ying to the giant casinos’ yang. However, on the inside, they reek with the same depression you find on the slot machines at 5AM in the morning (not to mention, the smell of these shops is overwhelming – it’s like when you visit someone else’s grandparents’ house, and you can tell that everyone else there has gotten used to the smell, but you haven’t, and you start to die inside).

The disappointment of these stores is augmented by the terrible weather. It is cold, windy, and rainy, and the report does not look great for tomorrow. I had briefly entertained switching from doing the 7K to the 11K, but that notion got killed by my walk along the boardwalk. Feeling a bit depressed, I decided to just grab a six-pack and go back to the room and do some reading.

(Just to note: many casinos have now adopted a strict rule that you cannot bring your own booze. Pro-tip: this rule is circumvented through this trick — I put my beer in a black plastic bag. I know this sounds complicated and tricky, so I’d recommend bookmarking this page so you can remember how to sneak booze into a casino the next time you are in AC).

8:30 – With my mom and her fiance checked in, we head to Scarduzio’s in Showboat for some pre-race steaks. As always, Scarduzio’s does not disappoint. It is my personal favorite steak place in Atlantic City, beating American Cut in Revel. After dinner, we part, as my mom has to get some gambling in, and she only gambles by herself. Unfortunately, she learns the same lesson that I have learned time and time again: the Showboat is a horrible bitch. I, too, have to get a bit of gambling in before I go to bed; the Showboat devours my bus voucher, but I hold my own in about 15 minutes of blackjack. And with that, I’m off to bed for the 7K tomorrow morning.